


Scry

by Bridie_Brackenhoe



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Hilith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridie_Brackenhoe/pseuds/Bridie_Brackenhoe
Summary: Mirror, mirror...Lilith's spying has unexpected benefits...One shot.





	Scry

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by all the delicious Hilda-in-lingerie fics, here's my take.

Lilith puts a finger in her mouth, closes her eyes and swirls her tongue obscenely. If only there were someone here to witness, she thinks, as she draws the finger in a circle on the mirror in the Spellman sisters' bedroom. It’s all insurance of course, it’s not this room she’s interested in anyway, but she’d hate to miss anything. She takes their nail clippings, cuts fragments of clothes, leaves and thinks nothing more of it...

The best laid plans of mice and men are notorious for going tits up, but occasionally, those of demons end up paying dividends. The scrying had been useful, but it was also a bit of distraction when she was bored and she was bored a _lot_ because in between the exciting bits, the exorcisms, the resurrections and the opportunities for causing general mayhem and mischief, humans were a monumentally dull lot. She’d watched the Spellmans doing laundry, jigsaw puzzles, homework, making breakfast, lunch and dinner in the world’s most boring soap opera. _Cleaning_ for Satan’s sake. All in hope that something, anything, would happen and chaos would reign once again, but as it never did, her interest waned and the mirror went unwatched, a thin patina of dust adhering to its surface. 

It was a happy accident that, while indulging in her evening snifter, she’d idly ran her finger over the mirror to remove some of that dust and a picture had emerged. The sisters’ bedroom. Occasionally this had provided some entertainment when Zelda was cavorting with the Blackwood creature, worth a twinge or two when Zelda had undressed, long, pale and lean, but mostly it was the sisters bickering before they went to sleep, then bickering when they woke up with a fair bit of snoring in between. 

But it’s Hilda who enters the room and Lilith groans, slumps in her chair. She’d been hoping for something a bit titillating, a bit risque even, maybe Zelda in that black lace nightie, not Hilda in her flannelette jammies and socks, reading saucy novels and giggling to herself.

But then Hilda does something she’s never done before. She locks the door, there's definitely a distinct click as the bolt drives home. Lilith raises an eyebrow. Hilda is a walking routine moulded into the form of a witch in an ugly dress; right about now she should be cleaning her kitchen after dinner, not locking herself in her bedroom. When she carefully places a beribboned box on the bed and starts pulling off her cardigan, Lilith figuratively and literally sits up. Beribboned boxes usually contain pretty, pretty things, and when Hilda removes the lid to rifle through a mound of tissue paper, Lilith’s suspicions are confirmed. 

Lingerie. Lilith has always been a sucker for lingerie. 

And beautiful lingerie at that. Blue, almost cornflower, lace and a touch of satin from what she can see, which isn’t much because Hilda has her back to the mirror. Hilda is laying it out on the bed, gently adjusting it. This is a treat, a gift, for or from whom Lilith has no idea, but Hilda is taking off her shapeless dress and her decidedly utilitarian underwear and from behind, Lilith is surprised at what is revealed. Curves, lots of them, a full backside, soft shoulders, thick thighs, a generous hourglass dotted with a witch’s mark right in the center of her back. Well, this is not what she was expecting in any shape or form, pardoning the pun, and maybe she should start pulling up her skirt, in preparation, just in case, because this definitely has potential. 

Hilda puts on the panties first, sliding them up, giving a bit of an unladylike tug and shuffle but then she runs her hands over them to smooth them. They’re high waisted, with a decent leg, very flattering and they’re hugging Hilda’s arse to within an inch of their life. Lilith’s fingers find the waist of her own knickers and slip underneath. Hilda looks over her shoulder into the mirror and for a split second Lilith freezes, hand between her legs, panicked that she’s looking right at her, even though she knows that’s impossible. Hilda giggles, apparently happy with what she sees, turns back to the bed for the bra. Lilith lets out the breath she was holding. 

A quick hook and twist maneuver and Hilda’s pulling the bra’s decorative straps slowly so as to prolong the sensation of them slipping over her skin. The fabric is vibrant against her back, delicately patterned lace. Lilith is almost biting through her lip with anticipation but then Hilda throws a sheer curveball and dear Satan, she has stockings as well. This is a huge improvement on the socks, Lilith thinks, her middle finger teasing her clit, stroking gently to build the pressure. As Hilda bends over to adjust to stocking tops, Lilith can almost feel what those hips and that backside would feel like under her hands, and she grips the arm of her chair like a surrogate with her free hand. 

When Hilda turns to the mirror though, pulling here and there to adjust, it’s a sight to behold. The bra cups Hilda’s full breasts, pushes them upwards to create a cleavage that Lilith could and would lose herself in. She longs to know what that lace would feel like with the warm flesh underneath, to run her tongue over the barely visible nipples, to bury her face in soft skin. She’s long past teasing herself now; the pulsing is increasing at her core and she’s down to the serious business of reaching her climax. Hilda in the mirror is studying her own glorious reflection, presenting different angles seemingly for Lilith’s approval and Lilith does approve. She approves of the nip of Hilda’s waist, the curve of her belly, the glory of her heavy breasts. Heartily. When Hilda runs her hands over the fabric one last time, teases her own nipples, Lilith’s orgasm finally crashes through her and she grips the chair arm so hard she rips the fabric. She rides it, waits for her breathing to slow and her heart to stop racing and opens her eyes to see Hilda is still standing there in all her cornflower glory, biting her lip. 

“Well, well, Hilda, that was a surprise, thank you…” she murmurs to the mirror sleepily. 

In her bedroom, halfway acrosse Greendale, Hilda leans forward to tap on her side of the glass. Lilith sits bolt upright, eyes wide, her skirt bunched around her waist, knickers sodden. 

Hilda giggles and smiles. 

“You’re welcome!”


End file.
